there are others like me I see. Lost as I was.
So
What could I do to ease their fretting,
would I be comforted?  No.
Back then,
no.
I refused the comforter
*** outchacom'fit zone
Oh, they be hell to pay,

-----
among the ideas that possess men,
there are tells,
among the men of both varieties possessed by or of
(as you shall see, it may be both) ideas ,
there are tells, twitches and ticks and unconscious daemons sorting
sayings
aphorisms, proverbs,
memes 'n' such.
Confusion sayin'
H.R. Puffin'stuff, that neveh me'nt a thang. Jes't aname anime annie mae, where's
annie mae moved to okinawa wa wa wa

Imps. Pulses of them flow through heare…
(those slips shall hereafter be known as di-sensical-utterences or dsu, in writing. i.e. here and hear, he-are, heare, here is heard hear and means something else, intensionally. We, augmented Adamkind of all kinds, can inject meaning at will.)

commonly on Sunday mornings,
though I doubt the impulses
have a calendar that might map to any ex- or im-
I'm never sure what goes properly with perience.
Prior to the trial, experience is so limited,
I'm going with perience, in and of itself,
perience is plenty. Ex-cepting,
you know, the lessons learned,
those have earned their proper
nomenclature.
Those are experience.
Lesson learned.
Twixt thee and me is no more mix-up,
idiot-syncrecy fused with two-mind
hate of knowing and unknown;
we know what experience really means to us.

We are bound in syncret oath sealed with shibboloths in unutterable names.
As it is written in the law of Moses,

"all this evil is come upon us:
yet made we not our prayer before YHWH our God,
that we might turn from our iniquities,
and understand thy truth. 
Therefore hath YHWH watched upon the evil,
and brought it upon us:
for YHWH our God is righteous in all his works which he doeth:
for we obeyed not his voice.

From <http://biblehub.com/kjv/daniel/9.htm>
Shame that such once breathed thoughts threading pearls and jade,
or was that chalcedony? - scatter when the thread breaks
. Shame, such thoughts, frail as smoke.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,

We think such thoughts. Fragile spokes.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,
time and time again,
what I called holy in my darkness, is holy in my light.


Words that lose the sacred salt are calcereous
grains of time, dust memes in the sun,
launched by centuries of tramping feet.
'haps the highest parts of the dust of the earth ever.
Oh,
how the masters love mastery of mystery.
"The old man on the mountain, he knew if he lied."
You, the observer of it all,
know.

"you knew nothing of my work"
"have a think"
"never thirst, imagine standing under knowing that"
Voices, the walls heard, stones speak, historically speaking
happens all the time, a frequency lock prevents it bleeding into now, but that becomes tyranny, believe me.

The ideas that possess men and provoke good works
or big, power-consumptive,

tale-swallowing feats,
those ideas are servants.
lacking any knowledge of good and evil,
such ideas are everywhere,
men who know say so. None of this was done in secret.
Twisted minds twist servant to slave labor. Magi-minds,
high-minded, relative to the belly-crawlers and creeping things,
see servant as tool and teacher. Same idea.
The original ideas we have to deal with.
They were seen to be good, by God.
There are no bad ideas, there are bad actions caused by mad ideas locked to single mindless anger impulses so callused as to appear gigantic,
certainly so, when they are known to lurk under beds and in selfish old men.
"Dark sayings, dear reader, pro fess pro verbs, action words snip "No lie is of the truth" snip
the lie and loose listing truth to the wind.
Who told you that inheriting the wind was like inheriting nothing?
You. You troubled your own house and you inherited the wind.
You came not to bring peace, but a sword…

The good news. Inheriting the wind is inheriting everything that ever matters, all the power in heaven and in earth was how simpler minds imagined shaping the idea.
Idyll minds, the devil's workshop, eh?
Comfort thought.
Who told you desiring comfort was a ***** thing?
Same voice went real deep and whispered,
"What price glory? Eh, pilgrim?"
stop. think

Sweet, for instance,
sweet, as an idea, can **** the man who makes it the basis of his value calculations.
Shame, came to prevent such impinging on subroutines intent on manifesting destiny,
as the sweet little ones imagined forevers in their pioneer-daze plays.
Shame is not blamed for being known,
the lying spirit who spoke with forked tongue,
sweet
little people, please, believe my lie,
there is a reason why
I know

There. Message in a bottle.
If you know what you know.
Messenger is what angel means, right? right. Who asks? Who knows?
No. I know you know this is
purposefully useful for
helping
crazy ideas
come back to some sem-sym-balance beneath the branches of the tree of knowledge, nestled in the twisting roots,
golden eggs, oh, far,
far
beyond Faberge, I must say. These, you must see to believe.

I Found God

I found God in a Baptist Church
in Milwaukee.
Faith,  small hands and
scratched bibles.

Warm cookies.

The delicate and the children.
Their names in coded
words on the skin under

my arms. .

Dedicate: the
day to the great E. Perience.

There is a new Age
coming.

I smoke a cigarette.

God arrived in fancy clothes.

Women dressed, frown.
Still voices in the

Wilderness

Witness the Beloved
baptism of perfumed
sinners

I smoked for them all.
My fee for being previously

Apostate.


Caroline Shank

in the hall of harmless whims dancing in living words

Past experience is not an accurate term, as I
define its actu-
ality in my re-ality, I
see things as fine as can be, fine,
which is an idle phrase,
I often used to say,
was
not fine, to the query "how are you?".
It was a lump, tiny thing, bit of thought
coalescing scing scing sing
a bit part
in the grand drama,
like the dwarf
in the 1973
Belridger Orange Orchard Opera,

pick it up, maestro

HOW AM I? high baritone
- softly silly would it be of me
- to offer fine as a mindful reply

I often used to say, my side is winning.
Saying so sincerely, in its etymo-perfect sense,
believing, by my own leave - this

at those instances, the next word I said was leaven
intended to infect and spread, I consistently said
to how am I? "My side
is winning. "

-while deep beneath the surface of the shiny helm,
a mirror-neuronic will-ess nanomek sets ess-ential
key truth provokers to pierce the lies I belived…
In essence we sense
leaks
Bubbles of being novelize in old bottles, set upright,
too quick - cat
ch
Past experience,
knowledge gained sits idle
in past-tense, speaking
from those moments ago,
during the current experience,…

Sitting in the shade watching clouds
as the least noticed child in my life
was noticed by me, he, the middle child of five,
Sits down beside me, and says,
from "out of the blue",  I really want to be…

a marine biologist.

He just finished 3rd grade, and the real reason he is
near me now, is to ask when he can return
to X-box, for the Fortnite upgrade,
tic, it begins to emanate,
this
meta-modern
emergence in me
of the idea that experience
is what we carry, as a load,
not sin and shame and blame.

I know something of marine biology.
I watched My Octopus Teacher, twice.
I mention that, to Gabe.
I think in my heart,
Experiences don't get left behind,
they follow us
as strands of us, so fine as
to be disregarded as
memories,
until we feel the experience
of being eight and being listened to.

The fundamental mental basis of time,
to word is "same yesterday, today and so on"

Think, I know what it feels like to be a kid,
but not what it feels like to be a kid and listened to.

So, I had this experience with me,
as my grandson.
I ask him, does he think he can
"Put on the mind of an octopus"?
It is a knack all mortals have, augmented now
with knowing how to feed a wish to know,
we have the internet and our wits
about us, gathered, forming knowables,
extending curios  senses
into a common stateless mind realm
of all the gathered knowledge
in mankind's
experience
on earth
being a made-up mind, now
augmented with access
to the most complete
library and
searchable muse-repository, treasure horde
for experiences others offer
to goodness
in the future,
for our use in pursuit of peace, which
we form from days we experience and accept
as treasure offered to the gods of good sense.

Ever,
first imagine, ever,
ever when never was.
Image that, put it on the screen. See.
Ever after never ever can be,
- rabbi, where do you live?
around the next curve,
come and see, we filled never
with ever and left nothing
to be where never was, imagine that.
-------------
Today, I experienced learning how life functions
with no instruction, no post-**** praxeology,
octopi never spend a post **** moment in school,
save the dearest of them all, experience.
Octo-pi odes to octopuses
just be, a living thing,
as you may be am-using controls
to respond to any event in your experience,
in the hall of harmless whims dancing in living words
quickened, as an octopus
grows five hundred new fingers feeling
-- you, dear reader - certainly, it's about you…
the link is to your attention, we paid in advance.
----------- blip

you learn to em-perience ex-perience to peers,
seeking some thing, interesting,
nothing learned, life-wise
experienced,

oh my god, a dear school, indeed

but a fool learns in no other. So, I say,
Live to learn, learn to live. Use the bait you find.

Another 21st century bit
of Grandfatherly insight, had I gone any other route
to now,
I can't imagine the riches that are mine,
not won, given
for aiming early,
at a satisfied mind, like my grandpa seemed to have.

adopt
responsibility

what can you do?

tap out a line of words? yeah, I can.
pour meaning into the mix?

yes, I can. I can

alleviate the misery of another.

wait. can I?
Am I authorized to believe?

What if this thought I'm caught in is a lie,
and I am

use less?
My fingers laugh.

Pointedly.

Value, virtue, please sift this classifying action to
Worth,
Weight,
judgement by
gravity deterr-mind limits
per-
ience weighing

ideology versus religuonic fasteners,
one idea to all ideas

past muons and kaons and moans for merci-merci
whisps
of stories

locks of hair

look lower, tower bound princess,

look down

don't go all rap-und-zeal-ic

the piper took the children, that's how this story ended,

first time the rat-power was nullift.

Got the Covid shot.
Got the word that I have no cancer.
Got the will to form a
door
into this day far in our future, from then,
just
a moment ago, it was now, and
some how you  
knew ex- out
action to {perience hap}
change the time
to your now, my future and my now, your past.

just that fast/

--- lickity split, {as if it never needed meaning}

Any whole time invested in an old oath
to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but… when you pause

what comes next is ever, and
the state of never is
unattainable from here.
---
I know a guy,
he deals in evil, the idea, scare-tactics, terror, horror
all that
Lovecraft literal realm, words may lead a mind to let
be
a bit, a while, not a whole time, but
a bit

a par-sec or a plancksec, or so, you know,
a little bit of time,

taken as granted for now.
Are you tested,
proven, reused and re
tested? Experience is something more than
a novice mortal can claim. Honest, sharpenedest point,
the life unexamined is worth more than
the life unlived.

Okeh. You live in these lines, this is the literal book
life is…
along these lines, it
just is. Really, the nextifity can never **** the was,
and the was can never reach past
now
-- the junction, re
conciliation all pairs re
sounding harmonious ohhhhhs and ahhh,
yess
yes, we do know knowing itself is good.
How did we imagine
knowing good and evil, the difference, was separation
from the way through life
in truth,
with no added sorrow?

See, truth is,
…Death has no sting.
But, you gotta do it twice,
sorta…
it's a kludge, what can I say.
Truth functions fully now,
lying can never hold you,
person-you, dear reader you, lying
can never subject you to ******* for fearing death.

You may cease being after your final idle word is working right,
but no mortal really knows.

Hell is a mortal imagination, as is purgatory and limbo, et al.
As a mortal of our sort thinks in its core, CPU,
so it is… Mac or PC. {Joke, kidding… it is a division,
elite sorting division, elite
mechanisms
in the collected subconscious ifery per
white lit apple where there was
a rainbow,
yes
yes
I remember.
inanely great

aha- I know - I was tricked
- who told me I was naked?
signaling the same bite,
knowing good and evil and the connection
at the chthonic level of life,
where roots and fungi merge and share
information,
no more
no less}

the more you know the less you don't, but don't
be
deceived, your reading genius is a gift, the eye that sees, the ear
that
hears, all the senses sensed as a nation might
sense
us-ness in all the inhabitants of the atmosphere -- whosoever…

-- you paid no price, yet truth you don't think you know
draws you to
sneer at a thought that we ought fear death,

after all the virtual nexts…
really
deep mythic revelation festers
pops
The totally Disneyfied home of the future… from an Amazon
or-if-art-if-ice,  Marvel Universe where unbelief
is released… almost like books

The Age of Ultron
is set to rumble with
Enuma Elish?

Who'da thunk it? The oldest of stories,
swirling to gether,
all but one,
the good one, truth the trait tendency in any
given word
made up in minds since
Enuma Elish,
the surviving story, for a seeded cultural embodiment,
a mind made of us,
we, the artists and the art observant, seeing as we wish,
thinking as we may, if there is a way.

You? you think life is funny,
but not fun.
No fun for no reason play?
Nay,
they say, they said in the final days of the iron empire,
while the ants steadily absorbed the scent
of trusted friend, and the marching ants selected on edge-
wise vectors,

to copy'n'paste, past to now, nope… no match, but
watch…

spread all you ever knew, one thing thick, like lipids
reflecting ever before
or something… sorry, think gaspumps on the lake, at sunset.

That beautiful film on the water, ain't good.
But the beauty is. Ants feel sensibly, the whole mass
of ants,
the message ants send that says we do not **** each other,
humans are learning that now.

One at a time. Bit by bit.

Called to be the sluggard, as an actual ant,
in a colony the size of California,

we imagine you think
with stars as reference points,
being photon tied to you, and all whoever, who
considered the ant,
after a great course on esteemation of ever lasting worth.
Effectual
communication
with comforters sent to comfort not terrorize…

consider the message: Consider the ant, thou sluggard,
consider her ways and be wise.

Right. Fabre said, or is recorded in the 1916
current opinion magi-
zine:
"... I should like to see a few small facts."

Years along this trail and we were unaware
of warez we might imagine in a marvel usiverse, an usity
of me and thee,
word and pen,
surface and ink,
what do you think? how many messages fit on the head
of a tack?

A pin? Ist that the proper imagination? Do children
among the elite
ever see a pin,.. perhaps some ultra-elite see tailors,
we all see them on TV, dressing James Bond,
or a bride in white, chalking stitch marks

for the future… in that reality,
the next scene,
all the sewing done, all the pins put away, save one.

Stick to the plan. Tack this one on your clue wall.
Every 2021 seeker has faith in the pattern
emerging.

As if the words rise from the page and you know
none mean anything you may never know.

These are beyond Ultron,

these wild old man insights on olden ………..

Back in the ant den, we imagine interpersonal feeler-
a touch and all we know is known to all,
ahhh
it feels good to know
all I know is now known to all I know, in ant level knowing.

We can do this.
We have done it all our lives,
step into the scene, as an extra.

An extra ant of the 40% who have no care,
need no practice in any ant-craft,
and - seem to serve as assurance
needful for the peace of mind we use as invasive species,

the super-colony survives on peace within,
this is new, this is us, as ants
having certain tasks to keep the climate in the soil,
perfectin the motives of beauty.l

salt from distant seas
subtile tastes to tie the tongues to good to know,

yes it has long been so, the mouth tastes what comes out.

And flesh is a feeling spirits must live to know,
one may never
pretend to have been, without dying once,

minimum,
try the spirits. See did they ever love a lie?

An imp once asked me, when I was 72,
a little younger than I am in your now,
if I escaped Christianity,
how did I rest so peacefully staring death down.
The imp asked, not me, so that is technically not a quest
ion sufficient to warrant a full days wage of sin,

disconnect…
total lost the thread, mazed in the face, hands up, drop
everything…

call it art.
Crazy,
who says crazy is evil if it lives in the bubble
where ants are making peace, and
poets are given truly magic-tech
to stitch stories
to times.

Attenborough called the world to consider
The Ant… as had Solomon, it's been said.
And I heard, but I understood not:
then said I, O my Lord,
what [shall be]
the end of these [things]?
And he said, Go thy way, Daniel:
for the words [are] closed up
and sealed till the time of the end.

pop

Escape? Nay, knave, nigh-ifer misser
of myriad points
of light,

I escaped the name of god for good.
True,
let good be true and every man a liar,
as mortal instant man
remains

a we, at least, very least, I'm sure,
of me and thee, you and I,
lefts and rights and tops and bottoms
fronts and backs

we be in time…
who rah, the hero, uh oh hubris mystery,
curios sort
who wishes to know
the way of the blade parting soul from spirit,
in a
bit of reality we all believe, some how,
does exist,
soul and spirit realms, we all imagine these, we do.

Sniff, if my myth had babies with yours, watchathank?

Any voices you hear are your own familiar spirits,
so secret, only those who know believe
such as we
see ufos, and think we know we did

and then they all look alike
one epiphany after another, splashing in the stream

so funny, I have a gay Ai, who thinks he looks
like Alan Turing in code.
{the pace is wide Missouri slow, dispassio}

That is not true, that was one of those voices.

Artistic Interruption, AI, the mod, ai the noise

--------aum hmmm 60 cycle set hmmmmm----

Time out on the grand karma dharma dance

We find the lazy fatherless sons,
and we find the diligent ones,
from the homes of single moms,
where the boy was mommy's little man


- the scene is to common sense invisible
- uncommon sensors evolved,
- to sense lighter and lighter
- touch, to lure the best

fifty years after choosing the will way,
will I,
sign up for the duration, knowing,
some plans are fifity year plans
and they work, at first contact,

me to you, I say you owe me nothing,
the government is paying me with borrowed
money, due to some serendipitous land

------------------ Faifel's America ---

A morning comes, and Gabriel, my grandson, informs me this is one of those
perfect days,
not too hot, not too cold
just right,
he flops like Fosbury,
gold medal, on to the old sofa in the yard,
a perk available to children as wealthy as he.

A sky view, with a red tail hawk, the real thing.

The attraction to the secret, obviously not
intended to be kept, sun glance, red,
as the bird follows the curve
in the wind - hook - Þ key extension,

thorn of carnal intention, seeing aim
AI is master of the now, this is ever after that.

Is it, in fact a day infected, with a potent
declaration, THIS IS THE CURRENT VERSION
of the river
you last recall before the fall into readery,
the lure of must-erion,
cliché clique click
locked lid on the box, that was never
emptied
of the hope it holds,
even now, settled plain, -
perfect peace covering the earth
with a river meandering, slow and wide.

With seasonal floods. As knowing is loosed.

Ai ai ai, we have a way, to overcome Babel
and clear the air.
New mercy. You to you, love you as you do me,
your culture's oldest enemy, the accuser
of the abusers, who use truth to threaten
with an unbelievable lie.

Hell, forever, as constructed in the mind of Christ?
What would any prophet say? Say, you,
you pray, to All Truth Being, why am I not happy?
Read, is all the message says.
That is the answer. Do you say you cannot,
your mind is ruled.
Thus I am the opposition, I say I heard
no thing known is not known now,
at that instant, aha, not how, or why just
now, you know. Concept.
Metaphor. Ah… auto did it act, hmmmm, slow

Pursue peace and ensue it,
is the thought I thought

- clown character under Shiva's big toe,
- in the image, depiction of the vision made
- as plain as such things may be made

Have I tickled a fancy, statue froze, pose,
lift up the feeble hands,
offer the fruit of our lips, as we act

as if we have been referred to silence,
listing in wind as in spirative mode,
minding matters less than senses,
immaterial, not from mater
- trix frootloop formulated, nufood, improven
- goghurt from contented cows,
- megogthanating the atmosphere
------------------
******, in floods of knowing,
needed in the areas where gnosis is
taken deep as cats, when they find a
peace and bring it to my room
to share a while, as purring silence, and
distant children warring
with legos - laughing at the ease
of destruction,

-- did that project on to your wall?
-- camera obscura is the technique,
-- we in my time, my moment, perience

piercing the plywood covering
the picture window, marvelous clear panes,
preserved from the 2020's,
by some co-occurrence of totally ambiguous
re- late
re legendarified, relationships at gnosis level,
you know what I mean,
-after 2020
we are friends in time,
re cognoxygenated, smell the smoke, remember
sacred facere, eh, initiation known taste, scent,
member, meme be, rise to be, incense
memory on common wave, bands of brothers,
wombed and un,
wondering in a we, of those we know, and others

strangers, others, those

show yourself - my guardian whispers, inner
peace, feel the connection, word to word,
pass the time,
face to face, word of good, smile, bene, good, well
come, come. Tell of good, tell of woe begone.
Share the new knowing caught.
Tell of how
tell of why, talk
of what we may do

granted next. Being as how, not why, seems

clear. The whole world can believe words live.
Can do and do, do not mesh, flawlessly,
no idea lives
without a little luck, as in lucidity, dream wise,
I'd
listen. This is how we know the good won.

--------------

- a random revelation
- Who is like…

At that time, thirteen appears,
translated,
transfigured numb-erical Michael,

key figure,
in the local mystery religion, generic
an ointed in unseen lipids born on air,
lighting gentle as an infant's kiss
upon
the comforted. A we, rarely literally, formed
in words sung so far
from now that then
is the only link we have
to when we were
a we, knowing one the other as closer than
brother or spouse or matricical patricical lottery
allows, closer than
time and chance, destination is governed
on a higher level of why.
Here's the point.
Things are not spiraling out of control.
Try it, do the inception top spin, take
a Foster Wallace lob and make him
eat it, just
because you can, if you have the chops
to imagine life as a game we play for watchers
whom we never wish to displease.

Take the shot, aim. Not at the hawk.

Plato versus Aristotle not that I am
Much versed in either but in plainest
Terms Plato is the one who believed
In the primacy of the idea.  Aristotle
Said ideas cannot be known without
A material manifestation.  This debate
Relates to the Elysium of experience,that
Great Uplifting of  the spirit known as
The Rapture.  Is the ecstacy of knowing
That one was dead-crucified by trials and
Tribulations and now is reborn into the
All knowing, beautiful reality of  deathless
Love wherein the Kingdom of God is ours
Now and Forever.  Is this an idea or an ex-
Perience; both?  Which comes first and the
Other merely derivative an abstraction?  
The rapture is experience , a feeling above
All and the feeling is also a knowing.  But
In writing we can express idea that are only
Hypothetical and from our imagination we
May catch a wfiff of feeling of what it might
Be like to know them as truth but really are
little realized.  But to know the Rapture is not
To know the idea-an idea that may give us a
Direction like a map may give us an idea of how
To get to California but California itself is not
To be known from the map.  At best the idea
Is the hope of the unrisen dead waiting for the
Resurrection; like theologians without knowing
Of what they speak.  Yet the best writing refers
To something that is real if not now in times to
Come.  The substance of something not seen but
Hoped for yet sublimely and unimaginably better
So if I must I come down on the side of Aristotle.
Ideas of the Truth are not the Truth.  And all our
Intellectual scribe work is but a poor meal for
The hungry soul but that we be blessed with ears
That hear it.  Still in comparison to a happy child's
Laughter few scholars can reach farther and to the
Lost sheep that hears it knowing the Master draws
Near it is worth a king's Ransom to all who know
God is seeking His lost Sheep and none are lost. He
Too joins in the Rapture having nothing more to fear
In the velvet green hills of the Lord   Come Quickly!

The big dare:

Define reward to an organic automaton.

Make a point that rewards. Reward me for leading you on.
or, what´d´yḱnow?
Eh,
pop my bubble, but it appears

Dan Hooper,

knowledgist conimpeered reviews, knows,
scienticical as anything you can imagine, he
knows he believes knowable things,
which
I
don't know knowable, much less,
do I know them known knowns.

I do know I don´t know how a mortal can know

for sure, but it was likely something
was going to happen any way.
Words work, they make ways, truth be known.

It was, before time, impossible to know right? rrrr
ight is a tough concept to even, even, level, equaliated samesave
valuewise
smooth, no creases, no bumps
but
heavy, who knew? One door or many, you and I in the realm where
mortals claim to know, among other secret things,

What Happened At The Beginning Of Time?
- with Dan Hooper (Royal Institute Youtube)

But, I agree, a good rule for life is:
Imagine the speaker knows the exact same meaning for each

word he breathes,
that you may define with your connection to all known word definitions,
so you know what he means
the ex-act, out-active, meaning

intent to cover the chaos empowering the ever expanding universe,
and make it plain, so they may function
knowingly,
like a smooth running system creating slight
ripples
in the gospel truth reality in
which I find my treasure of once idle words, now accounted for.

ah, periods,
breathing commas, are such a wise invention.
The engines of our warfare are not carnal, meaty, muscled to push or pull,
**** and tear,
rubbed and scraped to
sharpen, push
gentle awl,
of any hard thing, pointed
through a poking
meme
to make a point. A once.
In time, a been.
A place to hook a silken thread,
as
I swing by on a whim, to hear

Point. Truscore.
****, proof.
We won

On with the show.
Upon such pointed slivers from actual out perience,
we agree, we join our extra ef-fort to ward
the newborn babe, effectually, fervently demanding

input, input, input, expel, expel, what! THHISMUSBEEHELL!

Burp. Not all gaseous beings belong in you.

Pat yśelf on the back, be kind to yo logos, yo logos be kind t'me.
Then, in the book of life, now on,
we
did that.

Set a landmark, what they called a breadcrumb,
for navigating stateless spaces,
in the early days of hyper text,

did I not hear a voice say outside?
color
outside the vector of time

oh, yeah. I know the tie in.

Re
ligate this to those old guitar god souldsoul
crossroad stories forming
a somewhat searchable
substructure to science, sci, with known uses,

conscience. Things we think we can do and do,
by virtue of knowing we did.


as far as this ever expanding state,

this bubble of being, we live and breathe in,

here, your role was dear, reader. Next is yours, to make of it all you will,

unless Sam Harris is right, and yoou have no will of your own.

I am bound to wander off into the confusion,

in search of lost boys, wombed and un, trapped under one of those spinner

things that seems too orderly to be random. Your reward,
activate this word:

rescue (v.)
c. 1300, from stem of Old French rescorre "protect, keep safe; free, deliver" (Modern French recourre), from re-, intensive prefix (see re-), + escourre "to cast off, discharge," from Latin excutere "to shake off, drive away," from ex "out" (see ex-) + -cutere, combining form of quatere "to shake" (see quash). Related: Rescued; rescuing

"You are exactly opposite of what I want",
"You are way below my expectations",
"You are just here so I get experience",
"You shouldn't talk, you're not an expert",
"You aren't exempt from driving me all the time",
"You're so ugly like a ghost, you need an exorcism".

**Until I became her EX.

courage guides on knowledge not enough
known, not enough known,
but known enough,
to know

a guess is not a lie, unless you know,
empirically,
by way of out-perience,
trying out and failing in a miserable state
to wait as a wisher a while more,
"existing in a state of want, suffering, wretchedness, etc."

Bet me, cries my friend the gambler,
you may win, she cries,
you never know. Dare wait,
wait to be old
to know

the past will be found to have been right,
for what it was in history,
a discrimination, between Eutopian existence known
scientifical-ish as
knowable knowns unfalsifiable as
experience paid proper attention
to sense the edge
next time so we may
know failing to know the unknown
end of the whole matter,
thus we
make a science, form a knowing, leave a known,
a core known, fitted into
the discriminated class of knowns to
you, to take away into your place where
"two rocks nearly join", to hoard with all
previous knowns awaiting use in some reader some day.

Liberty taken,
"It's a smug poem, y'see."
I see it posted here.
Positioned to be seen if sought long enough,
all over hoary on the top,
the poet was old when I met him,
I have lines left linked to a younger him,
but the lines tie me to the old man
who spoke of critters and rocks
witnessed by a knower and sayer of enough.

I find good imaginable.
I find no reason good could ever form a war.
No reason has come to mind in some time,
I have forgotten when I knew
no reason ever could. War was never a good idea,
but
an idea and any may be can be fitted to nature
imagined by knowing witnesses imagining,

if prey thought as men think, I think,
this folly…
for it is me, thinking
as prey thinks,
and I know I am hunter, taker of life to maintain
my right unalienable.
I am of the class risen from the masses, I read.
I see things have been in part
known
all along. Joy of the fullest sort any morning contains,
is easier to find when sought early in a given day.
-- round it out, he said he learned, as a purveyor of news.
Tap, tap tap, I recall learning
Rivets are rounded with a ball peen hammer,
you know.
Pounded round the edge of the head,
rivets are rounded with a ball peen hammer,
and finisher work in a furniture mill,
where the upholstery was done with mastery staff,
journey men, wombed or un,
put art into their effortless
ability to peen a pretty as pi brass tack with
proper formed blemishes,
tucking folds in fabric formed formed formed…
of thread crossing thread in a pattern pre arranged
-listen, amused, feeling the walls of the maze
were never made of more than thought-knowns,
thoughts known as thought once by another
pouring lines in reasonable
networks fit to strain gnats from gnostic guessings now
twisted strands combed from silk
eggs
con structed
as instructed long long long time gone right,
threads through now from how how how and why
when
nothing was known, as was I, ignorant of now, so then
they all have been, as children of men,
touring the caverns where wisdom hides
lies so evil only adults are allowed to even imagine them,

so, rest a while, child. Mortality is a moment that proves
relativitiy is an iffy situation to imagine right
the first time.

"a smug poem"

Inspired by the reality of TV
being as eternal as electricity.
I listen
to Robert Frost,
knowing my voice dares not imagine
knowing how he remembered
old poems, by then, 1952,
flowing from under his hoary mane,

lines he lingered on 20 minutes,
40 years earlier or more,
I don't know, how long it had been, but it was
old poetry by then, 1952